


The King of Sarras

by Jenksel



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: AU, Angst, Casskins, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Married Casskins, Married Couple, Royalty, The Librarians Shipathon 2018, arthurian legends, crowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 08:58:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenksel/pseuds/Jenksel
Summary: Remember that crown that Jenkins gave Cassandra for their wedding in "The Seal of the Tree"?  Wondering where that crown came from?  Read on and find out!





	The King of Sarras

Jenkins languorously stretched himself out on the bed, his eyes closed and a wide smile of contentment on his lips.  He heard the water running in the bathroom as Cassandra tidied up; after a few minutes she came back to the bedroom, carrying a fresh wet washcloth with her.  She gave him a peck on the forehead as she handed him the cloth, then climbed into the large bed while he cleaned the evidence of their latest round of lovemaking from himself.  When he was finished, he dropped the cloth onto the floor, then rolled over to spoon with his pretty young wife.  She gave a soft squeak as he pressed his now cool, damp genitals against her warm, bare buttocks.  Jenkins chortled and apologized as he wound his long arms around her.  Cassandra wiggled her bottom against him mischievously as she settled against him, and she heard him take a deep, appreciative breath.

They lay together quietly, talking for a time, tired and content, but not quite ready for sleep.  Cassandra idly played with one of her husband’s large hands, comparing it with hers for size, kissing his fingertips, twisting his Sealing ring slowly around his ring finger.  She loved every part of Jenkins’s body, but his hands and arms were special to her—so large and powerful, yet so gentle at the same time.  He had a few callouses and some small scars on his hands from the work he did in the Annex and from so many years wielding a sword, but to her they only added character.  She loved the feel of these hands on her body when they were intimate, loved how her small hand virtually disappeared in his when they held hands.  His long, fine fingers, so nimble and elegant. 

“I think your hands and your arms are my favorite part of you,” Cassandra said quietly, continuing to stroke her husband’s fingers.

“And why is that, my love?” he murmured into her hair.

“Because they’re so big and strong; I always feel so safe when they’re wrapped around me.”  Jenkins smiled as he nuzzled the Librarian’s neck and ear, lightly nibbling the lobe.  The sensation tickled, and, giggling, she playfully tried to move away from him, but the long arms that she loved so much held her fast.  She squirmed her body around just enough to be able to see Jenkins’s face.

“Which part of me is _your_ favorite?” she asked half-teasing, half-curious.  Jenkins grinned as his eyes flicked briefly to her chest.

“That depends—I assume that a pair of something counts as one thing?”  Cassandra rolled her eyes dramatically, but couldn’t help bursting into soft laughter.

“ _Besides_ those!” she said with exaggerated exasperation.  The immortal chuckled, then laid a hand on her face as he suddenly became serious.

“Your eyes,” he murmured.  “I love your eyes.  Such a beautiful, jewel-like shade of blue.  And every time I look into them, I can _see_ how much you love me, how much you want to be with me, how much you trust me.  I can see how happy you are, and that makes me feel so…’manly’, for lack of a better word.”  He pulled her close to cuddle her as he continued.

“I know it sounds old-fashioned to you, but it’s important to us creaky old knights to know that our ladies feel happy and loved.  Makes us feel like we’ve done our job, protecting and cherishing the Flower of Womanhood and all that, you know.”  Cassandra rolled over onto her side, facing Jenkins and snuggled into his broad chest.

“Well, mission accomplished on that, Sir Galahad!” she said happily.  “Whenever I’m with you, you make me feel just like a princess!”  He leaned over and began to nibble on the soft skin of her shoulder and upper arm, deeply breathing in her scent as he moved.  He always marveled at how different her body was from his.  Every time he touched her he was amazed by how perfect and smooth she was compared to him.  Sometimes he was afraid that he might hurt her, she seemed so delicate, like a porcelain figurine.

“What if I was to tell you that you are _more_ than a princess?” he asked, his voice suddenly taking on an enticingly sober tone.  His wife giggled and vined her arms around his neck.

“Aww, you’re so sweet!” she cooed.  “I used to imagine what it would be like to be a princess or a queen when I was little, you know.  I dreamed that I would just wake up one morning and find out that I was adopted and that my real parents were actually long-lost royalty, like in a fairy tale, or ‘The Princess Diaries’.”  Cassandra paused for a moment and sighed wistfully.

“But no matter how hard I wished for it, though, it never came true,” she finished sadly.  Jenkins lightly stroked her hair for a moment, thinking.

“There _are_ other ways that one can become a queen,” he began slowly.  “By marriage, for example…” Cassandra pulled her arms from around him and gently pushed him back so that she could look him in the eyes.

“Jenkins, what are you talking about?” she asked, confused now by the change in his voice and expression.  The immortal hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flashing through his brown eyes.  He lifted his chin and took a deep breath.

“I’ve been keeping a secret from you, I’m afraid,” he said, fixing his gaze on her.  “You know who my father was, but did you know that my mother was a queen?”  The Librarian stared blankly at him for moment before realization dawned on her.

“Wait, are you saying…are you saying that you’re a _prince_?!” she gasped softly, gaping at him in disbelief.  Jenkins smiled humorlessly and shook his head.

“No, I’m afraid not.  Because I’m a bast—,” he caught himself before he uttered the word that he knew Cassandra hated to hear.  “Because I was born outside of wedlock, I was never entitled to that rank.  But…I _am_ a king.” 

Cassandra stared at him, dumbfounded.

“What do you mean, you’re a king?” she demanded, not quite sure she understood him.  “How can you not be allowed to be a prince, but you _are_ allowed to be a king?”  The immortal pushed himself into a sitting position, and Cassandra followed him, pulling the bedsheet up to cover herself.  Jenkins took a breath as he settled himself against the headboard.

“While I was on the quest for the Holy Grail, I— _we_ , actually, since I was with Percival and Bors at the time—eventually came to the city-state of Sarras,” he began, taking her hand between his, staring at it as he spoke.  “It was located roughly in what is now northern Iraq.  I’ll spare you all of the details right now, suffice it to say that after the king there died, the people of Sarras unexpectedly declared _me_ the new king, and I accepted.  Sarras no longer exists, of course, but since I am still alive and never formally abdicated the throne, I am _still_ the king, technically speaking.  Which makes _you_ , again technically speaking, my queen.”  He brought his eyes up to look into his wife’s stunned face.  Cassandra was speechless for a few minutes, unable to believe what she’d just heard.  She searched his face for any sign that he was teasing or joking with her, but found nothing.

“You really mean it,” she said wonderingly.  “You’re really serious!”  Jenkins nodded his head solemnly.  Cassandra suddenly made a connection.

“The crown!” she squeaked, her eyes going even more wide than before.  “The one you gave me for our wedding!  Was that…I mean…was it from Sarras?”  Jenkins smiled again, this time in some amusement at her reaction.  He patted her hand reassuringly and nodded.

“Indeed it is,” he confirmed.  “It’s the royal crown of the Queen of Sarras and part of the Crown Jewels.”

“ _Crown Jewels_!” the Librarian squawked.  “You mean there’re _more_?!”  Jenkins laughed, enjoying her reactions immensely.

“Indeed there are!” he announced grandly, then he leaned in conspiratorially.  “Would you like to see them?”  He burst into renewed laughter as Cassandra’s eyes popped and she began to screech with excitement.  The immortal rolled out of the bed and slipped into his dressing gown, Cassandra right behind him as she quickly shoved her arms into the sleeves of her own robe.  He led her to a closet in his sitting room, and after a few minutes of digging through various boxes, bags and cases, he finally pulled out a large, flattish, jewel-studded box made of solid silver, meticulously polished and well-cared for.  Jenkins carried it out into his sitting room and set in on his desk.  He then fished a ring of old keys from a desk drawer, selected one and inserted it into the old box’s lock.  Cassandra moved around to stand at her husband’s side as he lifted the lid.  The Librarian shrieked and covered her mouth with both hands as she beheld the silver box’s contents.

There were several pieces of large jewelry, all designed like her wedding crown, fashioned out of gold, emeralds, topazes, diamonds and sapphires to look like the colorful eyes of peacock feathers.  There was a pair of dangling earrings; a wide, ancient Egyptian-style necklace that looked like multiple strings of peacock feathers; a pair of wide, heavy bracelets, large enough to nearly cover her forearms; a pair of heavy gold anklets made up of dozens of tiny bells, pearls and jewels.  There were also several rings of solid gold and set with huge stones—sapphires, rubies, emeralds, pearls.  There was even a long, delicate scepter of gold, cleverly designed to look like the single tail-feather of a peacock, studded with gems and pearls.  The entire ensemble must have been worth millions of dollars.  Cassandra raised her stunned eyes to look at Jenkins.

“All these jewels—are they…?” she began, her voice hushed with awe. 

“All of these are the queen’s jewels,” Jenkins said.  The young Librarian was speechless.  She looked back into the box, the light glinting off of the gold and gemstones like colored sparks.

“Can I…can I _touch_ them?” she asked timorously.  She nearly jumped out of her skin when Jenkins burst into loud laughter.

“Of course!” he said.  “Properly speaking, they all belong to you, now, my dear.”  He reached into the box, carefully lifted the necklace and held it up, a roguish gleam suddenly in his dark eyes.  “Would you like to try them on?”

His wife squealed shrilly in delight as she whirled around and lifted her long, red hair out of the way.  Jenkins eased the necklace around her throat and fastened it, then arranged the heavy piece of jewelry so that its weight rested comfortably on her shoulders.  He reached into the box and removed the bracelets, placing them on the Librarian’s trembling arms.  He placed every piece of jewelry on her, saving the anklets for last, then stood back to look at her.  He frowned.

“Where do you keep the crown?” he asked.  Cassandra was almost jumping up and down with excitement, the golden anklet bells tinkling merrily.

“In my clothes closet, top shelf!” she blurted.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”  Jenkins disappeared for a few minutes, and when he returned he was carrying the flat wooden box that contained her wedding crown.  He took it out and gently placed it on her head.  Lastly, he removed the scepter from the metal box and placed it in her small hand, positioning her so that she held it properly, as all the queens of Sarras had done before her.  He stood back again and swept his eyes over her, then held out his hand.

“Come, my dear.”  He led her over to the floor-length mirror that stood just outside of his dressing room and stood her before it.  The Librarian’s jaw dropped when she saw herself in the mirror, covered in gold and gems, the scepter in her hand.  She could hardly believe that the regal figure before her was Cassandra Cillian Jenkins.  Until fairly recently she had only been a high-school dropout, a nighttime janitor in a hospital, an outcast from her family, a terminal case—no friends, no family, no prospects, no future.  Now, she was a Librarian, a member of a new loving family, the wife of a knight of the Round Table, and now she was a _queen_ , literally.  She saw Jenkins standing behind her, beaming proudly as he adoringly gazed on her reflection, and tears suddenly sprang to the young woman’s eyes.

“Oh, Jenkins…!” she whispered, turning to look up into his dark eyes.  She reached up to stroke his cheek.

“Where’s your crown?” she asked softly.  “Can I see it?”  Though a tiny smile teased the corners of her husband’s lips, a ghost of sadness flitted through his eyes and was gone.

“Do you really want to see that?” he asked, and she nodded, the heavy earrings tinkling like chimes. 

“Wait here, then.”  Jenkins went back into his closet and emerged a few seconds later with a smaller, cube-shaped box, also made of silver, but almost completely black with age and neglect.  He placed it on the desk and opened it, then reached inside to lift out one of the most beautiful and unusual crowns Cassandra had even seen.  It was fashioned to look something like a turban, except it was made of solid gold.  The “cloth” of the turban was studded with thousands of tiny rubies, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds, arranged to look like an intricate, striped pattern woven into the golden ‘fabric’.  In front of the turban, over the forehead, was a large sunburst of diamonds and amber.  Emerging from the sunburst was a single large peacock “eye” plume made of gold and gems that matched the feathers of Cassandra’s jewels.  Eyes glowing, Cassandra looked up into Jenkins’s face. 

“Is this this only piece for the king?” she asked, and he nodded.

“The rest of the king’s regalia is gone, I’m afraid,” he said.

“Put it on,” she ordered.  Jenkins immediately replaced the crown in its box and slammed it shut.

“No!” he said sharply, making Cassandra flinch.  Realizing how brusquely he had spoken to her, his expression softened.  “I can’t,” he explained gently.  “I’m not worthy to wear such a symbol of authority.  I never was.”

He reached for the box to take it back to the closet, but Cassandra, her jewels jingling as she moved, hurried over and placed her hands on his to stop him.  She looked up into her husband’s troubled face.

“I don’t believe that,” she said firmly.  “How can _you_ , of all people, not be worthy to wear a crown?”  A pained expression crossed the Caretaker’s face as he closed his eyes.  He opened them quickly and looked down into his wife’s upturned face.  Even now, framed by the incredible Crown Jewels of Sarras, her face was by far the most beautiful and exquisite thing he had ever seen.  He let go of the box and took the scepter from her hand and laid it on the table.  He took her hands to lead her over to a pair of armchairs in front of the cold fireplace.  As she seated herself in the large leather wingback, Jenkins couldn’t help but stare at her, his heart pounding—she moved just like a queen, sitting straight and proud in the chair, gracefully draping her bejeweled arms over the low arms of the chair, as though it was a throne.  Jenkins dropped into his chair and sighed quietly to himself.

“To make a very long story short, Percival, Bors and I found the Grail— _along_ with the Spear of Destiny—in a castle called Carbonek.  We received a vision there instructing us to escort the relics to the Kingdom of Sarras for safekeeping, and we did so.  When we arrived, we found that the Grail and the Spear had given us the power to heal all manner of sicknesses, which we did gladly—and freely, with no expectation of recompense of any kind.  The people grew to love us, but the king grew to hate us.  He seized the relics and had us imprisoned for over a year.”  Jenkins adjusted himself in the chair as he settled into the story he hadn’t shared with anyone else in over a thousand years.

“Then, the king himself became ill to the point of death.  He called us from prison and begged us to use our ‘magic’ to heal him, and we did.  He died not long afterward, of old age, but left no heirs.  The people clamored for me, as the leader of our party, to accept the crown, and I did.”  He dropped his eyes and shook his head sadly.

“It was a terrible mistake.  I had all of these starry-eyed notions of being a king like Arthur, of establishing and ruling a kingdom based on Arthur’s ideals of justice and fairness and mercy.  But I—and the people of Sarras—learned the hard way that I was _no_ Arthur.  Not even close.”  Jenkins’s voice was harsh.

“What happened?” Cassandra prodded gently, her blue eyes locked onto her husband’s face as she steeled herself for the worst.  Jenkins seemed to be a bottomless well of unhappy memories and secrets. 

“All went well for a little over a year, but then a plague struck the city,” he began.  “It ran though the population like a wildfire and spared none.  Whole families, entire _neighborhoods_ —gone overnight.  People died in such numbers that they couldn’t be buried or burned fast enough; they were soon being stacked in the streets like cordwood.  The stench of death…”  Jenkins couldn’t continue for several minutes as he was overwhelmed by the long-repressed memories.

“I tried everything I could think of to save them—medicines, physicians, even magic.  I emptied the royal treasury, then I began selling off pieces of the king’s regalia to pay for whatever medicines and physicians were needed to care for the stricken and find a cure.  When that failed, I sent Bors and Percival to Camelot to beg Merlin’s help; if anyone could do something about the plague, it was him.  But by the time he arrived in Sarras it was too late.”  The immortal stared at the Turkish carpet covering the floor, lost in the past.

“Out of a city of thousands, there weren’t more than a couple of hundred left alive by the time Merlin came, escorted by a contingency of knights Arthur had sent with him.  Merlin took one look around and told me there was nothing he could do.  Sarras was a plague city, now, full of nothing but disease and death.  No one could be allowed to enter the city from the outside, lest they fall ill, too.  He advised me to burn the city to the ground, and I agreed to do so.  Buildings can be rebuilt, after all.” 

Cassandra sat frozen in her chair as Jenkins told the awful story.  Jenkins’s eyes were dull and far away, seeing again the death and destruction of the beautiful, cultured city that he had been unable to stop.

“I didn’t think things could get any worse, then, but I was wrong,” he continued, his voice was  flat and detached.  “Merlin ordered me to leave the city immediately after he arrived, before I, too, fell ill. Merlin said that he and the knights would gather the survivors and bring them out and then set fire to the buildings.  I gathered some papers and other important items, like the Crown Jewels, and left Sarras, went to their encampment outside of the city where Merlin told me to go and wait for him.  He and Arthur’s knights arrived there the next day.  Alone.”

Jenkins’s voice was now faint and filled with sadness.  Cassandra knew that something terrible was now coming; she didn’t want to hear it, but she knew she had to, for her husband’s sake.  It was a burden that he had carried alone for far too long.  She was his wife now, he needed to be able to trust that she would always share such burdens with him.  Jenkins took a deep, ragged breath and continued.

“I asked Merlin where the people of Sarras were, where _my_ people were.  He told me plainly, mercilessly, that he had ordered the knights to kill the survivors, including animals, before they set fire to the city.  The survivors were carriers of the plague, he said—they couldn’t be allowed out into the surrounding territories to spread the illness.”  A large, single tear slipped from the Caretaker’s eye and fell down his cheek.

“Oh, _Jenkins_!” Cassandra whispered in horror.  “Jenkins, I’m so sorry…”  He didn’t seem to hear her.

“I asked him why he had done that, that there had to be some way to save those people, and he said no, there wasn’t.  There was nowhere they could go after that, no one would take them in, coming from a plague city.  In fact, they would probably have been killed anyway by others who were afraid of them and of catching the disease from them.  Or they would’ve starved to death, died of exposure, or some such thing.  It was far more merciful to kill them now, quickly, he said.  Merlin said that if I couldn’t see that, then I didn’t have the ruthlessness one needed to be an effective king, that it was probably for the best that my so-called reign ended sooner rather than later.”

Jenkins raised his head and gazed vacantly at some spot over Cassandra’s head.

“He then ordered the items I had brought from the city burned as well.  To be on the safe side, he said.  I refused to turn over the Crown Jewels, though.  Perhaps I was being foolish, but…I felt as though _something_ of the city had to be saved and preserved, if only to prove that it _had_ existed...once.”  Jenkins suddenly looked very tired.

“I daresay, too, that had I been anyone other than Galahad, Merlin would’ve ordered me killed as well.”  Cassandra gasped, covering her mouth with the fingers of one hand.

“No!” she breathed.  “He wouldn’t have done that!”  Jenkins looked at her sadly and nodded.

“Yes, he would have,” he said.  “The world could be a very cruel place in those days, my dear.  And even being who I am, if Merlin had gotten it into his head that I needed to die in order to save others, he would’ve seen that it happened.  Or _tried_ to, anyway; after my coronation as king, I drank from the Grail and was made immortal, though I didn’t realize that until later.”  Jenkins sighed heavily and clasped his hands tightly together in front of him.

“On the day Sarras ended, I removed my crown and put into that box, and that’s where it has lain ever since.  I’ve never so much as touched it again before today.”  The immortal’s face hardened and darkened as he spoke.

“I never should’ve put it on in the first place.  I was a very poor king.  I was a self-important, naïve fool, and my foolishness cost an entire city full of people their lives.”  He dropped his head slightly and stared at his tightly clasped hands, silent.

Cassandra sat still, shocked and numb.  It saddened her to hear Jenkins speak of himself so harshly.  He may have been young and inexperienced as a ruler when he agreed to be the king of Sarras, but weren’t most rulers when they first started out?  And knowing him as well as she did now, she knew that he would’ve taken the loss of the city and its population hard, that he would’ve wept bitterly over the execution of the survivors, and, of course, he would’ve blamed everything on himself.  She sat in the armchair, the weight of the jewelry suddenly onerously heavy. 

She looked at the stone-faced man sitting across from her, and suddenly something inside of her rose up defiantly, refusing to allow him to take the blame for something that had been completely beyond his control.  Without a word, Cassandra rose and went to the box holding the crown.  She opened the box, reached inside and clumsily lifted the heavy crown, then turned and carried it over to Jenkins.  He looked up as she approached, puzzled at first, then panic-stricken as she raised the crown over his head.

“No!” he shouted, leaping up from the armchair and backing away from her, as though she was holding a cobra in her hands.  “I can’t wear that, Cassandra!  I _won’t_!”

“You did nothing wrong, Jenkins,” she said quietly, looking directly into his guilt-laden eyes.  “The plague wasn’t your fault.  You said yourself that you did everything you could think of; it’s not your fault that it wasn’t enough.  _None_ of it was your fault.”  He began to protest, but she cut him off.

“I know what kind of man you are, Jenkins!” she said hotly.  “I _know_ that you did the very best you could’ve done at the time!  You can’t blame yourself for everything.  You’re an immortal, not a god—you _can’t_ control everything.  You can’t _know_ everything.  You can only do what you can do, and I _know_ that you did your best.  I know that doesn’t bring any of those people back, it doesn’t bring Sarras back—but neither does constantly punishing yourself for a thousand years!”  She walked over to him and held up the crown.

“You’re _still_ the King of Sarras, you said so yourself—so _be_ a king.  Let your people and Sarras live on through _you_.  Through _us_.”  She looked up into his pale face, her blue eyes sparkling with fierce determination.

“We have no kingdom,” he said, and Cassandra snorted.

“You don’t need a physical kingdom,” she retorted.  “I’ve been studying medieval history, you know.  Jake’s been helping me.  Just so I can understand better where you come from, how you think, how you see the world sometimes.”  She cradled the crown against her chest and cleared her throat as she began to recite.

“’The king should not have craving and attachment for wealth and property, but should give it away for the welfare of his people. 

‘He should never destroy life, cheat, steal or exploit others, commit adultery, utter falsehood.  He must be prepared to give up all personal comfort, name and fame, and even his life, in the interest of his people. 

‘He must be free from fear and favor in the discharge of his duties, must be sincere in his intentions, and must not deceive his people. 

‘He must possess a genial temperament.

‘He should not indulge in a life of luxury. 

‘He must have self-control. 

‘He should bear no grudge against anybody. 

‘He should harm nobody, and he should try to promote peace by avoiding and preventing war, and everything which involves violence and destruction of life. 

‘He must be able to bear hardships, difficulties and insults without losing his temper. 

‘He should not oppose the will of his people, should not obstruct any measures that are conducive to the welfare of his people.’”  Moving the heavy crown to the crook of one arm, Cassandra reached up to stroke his cheek.

“Jacob says those were the general standards for being a king in the medieval world,” she said, gazing into his eyes.  “I know that you followed every single one to the letter then, because you _still_ uphold them now—well, _most_ of them.”  Jenkins snorted quietly and cocked one eyebrow.

“In which ways am I lacking?” he asked.

“You’re a little on the crusty side,” she answered, smiling gently as she withdrew her hand.  “And you have more fancy suits in your closet than McDonald’s has french fries!”  That coaxed a smile from the somber old Caretaker.

“I suppose that eight out of ten isn’t bad,” he conceded.  “No one’s perfect, after all.”

“Not even _you_ ,” the Librarian agreed.  She looked pointedly up at him.  “’A king should never hold a grudge against _anybody’_.  Not even himself.”  Jenkins drew a deep breath and dropped his head for several moments as he considered her words. 

“Point taken,” he said quietly, lifting his head again.  Cassandra took one large hand between both of hers.  She lifted it to her lips and softly kissed his fingers.

“What happened after…?” she asked.

“I went back to Camelot with Merlin and the others.  I resumed my place at the Round Table,” he answered dully, unable to look her in the eye.  “Arthur welcomed me wholeheartedly; he understood how heavy a crown sits on the head of a man.  But the others…”  He shrugged.

“They were not so understanding.  Even though I had found the Grail and the Spear of Destiny, to them I was disgraced, a failure.  Proof positive that a bastard had no place among ‘true’ nobility.”  He fell silent as he stared at the floor, shame and regret filling his eyes.

Cassandra let go of his hand and cupped his face.  She pulled him down to kiss him, her lips softly brushing against his.  She pulled hard on his shoulders next, her eyes locked onto his and holding them as she forced him to the floor, kneeling before her.  He knew what she wanted to do, and though a part of him wanted to continue protesting and clinging to the belief that he was unworthy, he ignored it.  Instead, bolstered by Cassandra’s faith and trust in him, he instinctively folded his hands in front of his chest as if in prayer and lowered his silver-white head—the same position he took over a thousand years ago when he first allowed himself to be crowned the King of Sarras.

 Silently, Cassandra raised the heavy gold crown over his head, pausing only for an instant before slowly lowering it onto him.  Jenkins closed his eyes as the weight bent his head even lower, his heart thudding against his breastbone every bit as powerfully as it had on that ancient day, his mind overwhelmed with memories of the past.  He then felt her soft hands on either side of his face, lifting his head to look up into her azure eyes.  She bent and kissed him, slowly and tenderly at first, then it melted into something more insistent.  When the kiss was done, she leaned his head forward to rest against her chest and ran her fingers slowly through the soft tangle of hair at the nape of his neck.

“They were wrong,” she said softly.  “ _All_ of them were wrong.  You _are_ a good king, Galahad.  And an even better man.  If you weren’t, I would never have fallen in love with you.”  Jenkins closed his eyes and listened to her beating heart, absorbing the warmth of her small body through his skin.  When they parted and Jenkins opened his eyes, her cheeks were flushed a pale pink, and her eyes glowed with an all too familiar want.  He reached up and untied her robe, then brushed it gingerly from her shoulders to pool at her feet.  She stood before him, naked except for the sparkling jewels that adorned her body. 

It suddenly came to him that it was almost a year since the first time they had made love.  Had it really only been one year since that wonderful, magical night?  He remembered how she had looked then as she stood before him naked for the first time, how she had looked like a goddess to him.  Over the past months she’d grown only more beautiful in his eyes, more graceful, even more goddess-like than he thought possible for a mortal woman.  And it still amazed him that she had chosen _him_.

“I love you, Cassandra,” he whispered achingly, then lowered his head to tenderly kiss her breasts and her belly.  “How did I ever come to deserve one such as you?”  She tipped her jeweled head down and kissed his forehead.

“How did _I_ come to deserve someone like _you_?” she countered.  They held each other for a long time, saying nothing, only blanketing each other with their love.  It was the Librarian who finally broke their embrace.

“Up!” she whispered, tugging gently on the sleeves of his dressing gown.  Jenkins obediently rose to his feet, unconsciously pulling himself up to his full height as he looked down at her.  The lamplight glittered off of the jewels of his crown, outshone only by the glittering of his eyes.  Even while wearing nothing but a robe he radiated power and authority, and Cassandra’s heart filled to bursting with love and pride at the sight of him.  An image of her husband as a magnificent young warrior-king in full regalia suddenly filled her mind, completely taking her breath away.  She could see his tall, powerfully-built body, clad in rich robes that couldn’t disguise his lean, battle-hardened muscles; his boyish face smooth and ruddy; his hair thick, long and wild and black as midnight; his dark eyes piercing and hawk-like, taking in everything around him.  The thrilling vision was sharper and clearer than a mere imagining, it felt more like...a cherished memory.  Cassandra felt like she could reach out and touch him—and then it was gone.  In its place was the Galahad she had always known—older, heavier, not as muscular, his hair white and tamed now, but he was still marvelously handsome and strong and sharp-eyed.  And even though they’d just had sex, Cassandra wanted to feel those strong arms around her again, to feel those skilled hands exploring her body again, to feel him inside of her again.

The Librarian slipped her arms around Jenkins’s middle, nuzzling her face into his robe to kiss the bare skin of his chest.  Her lips found his nipple and she kissed it, then gently teased it into a firm point with the tip of her tongue.  She heard the air rush from his lungs as he sighed, felt his manhood faintly stir through his dressing gown against her thigh.  She broke into a smile.

“Where’s your scepter, Your Majesty?” she asked coquettishly, at the same time casting a sultry, hungry look up into his eyes.  She slowly brought one hand down his back and over his buttock and thigh, sliding it into his robe, lightly brushing her fingers over his belly before dropping to tightly grasp his swelling member and give it a good, hard squeeze.  Jenkins sucked a sharp breath in between his teeth and tightened his arms around her.

“ _There_ it is!” she cooed and squeezed him again, deliberately, drawing another sharp gasp from her husband. 

“Ooo!  It’s so _long_ and _hard_...”  She began to pull on him slowly while tightly gripping him.  Jenkins’s breathing became slightly erratic, and a faint grunt sounded deep in his throat.  Cassandra looked up at her husband.

“Why don’t you show me the king’s jewels?” she murmured suggestively, giggling at her own silly double-entendre as she released the stiff shaft and moving her hand down to lightly grasp and massage his sac.  Another, louder grunt slipped from the immortal.  He grabbed her face with both hands and held it firmly as he dropped his head to kiss her, hard, his tongue tasting her lower lip quickly before stealing between her small white teeth to meet hers.  She quickly untied the sash of his dressing gown and dragged it from his broad shoulders as he kissed her, then reached inside to rake her nails lightly over his bare back and buttocks, sending a shiver through his large frame.  She squirmed out of his grasp and stepped back, allowing the quilted satin robe to fall from his arms and drop onto the floor. 

Each stood and swept their eyes over the other’s body, the smooth ivory skin of the woman contrasting sharply with the scarred, ravaged skin of the man.  Jenkins suddenly felt slightly ridiculous standing there, wearing nothing but the gaudy, ancient crown.  He reached up and removed it, setting it on the seat of the armchair.  Cassandra pouted.

“You don’t want to wear your crown to bed?” she questioned him flirtatiously, pooching her lower lip out like a spoiled child as she began to play idly with the jeweled feather of her necklace that rested just over one plump breast.

“It’s not really meant for _that_ kind of roleplaying, my dear,” he chided her soberly.  “That would dishonor the memory of those who placed it on my head all those years ago.”  He saw a look of embarrassment darken her face as she realized her mistake.

“Besides,” he hurried to reassure her, his voice becoming husky as his eyes followed her fingers, hovered tantalizingly over her nipple.  “Haven’t you had enough of the ‘king’s jewels’ for one night?”

“But you said yourself that you’re technically still a king,” she smiled, relieved that he wasn’t angry with her.  She raised her head imperiously.  “It’s not really roleplaying if you’re _actually_ a king.  And no—I have _not_ had enough of your jewels!”  The immortal chuckled and stepped forward to take her slim body into his arms.

“It seems that my queen is insatiable,” he growled, pressing his hard groin into her soft flesh, his hands sliding down to lightly massaging her buttocks.  “How shall I go about satisfying such a greedy creature?”

“Come,” she whispered, stepping back and out of his arms.  She grabbed his hands and began pulling him toward the bedroom, the tiny bells of her anklets jingling and her mischievous eyes shining up at him like sapphires. 

“Come, and let Queen Cassandra show you!”

Jenkins followed her willingly, eager now to find solace in the arms of his beautiful, clever queen, eager to let her drive away the ghosts of Sarras, even if only for tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> The story of Galahad and Sarras is actually recorded in the Arthurian legends of Malory, though of course I've tinkered with the details a bit. No one knows where Sarras was supposed to have been located. Some writers thought it was in the Middle East where Iraq/Iran are now, some thought it was located somewhere in Egypt, and others thought it was located on an island off the coast of Britain. I chose Iraq because it seemed the most distant and most 'exotic' (to a medieval knight, anyway) of the possible locations. In the legends, Sarras is where Galahad drank from the Grail after his coronation, dying of happiness shortly afterward, and was buried there. 
> 
> Of course, we all know now that's not what really happened to our handsome knight...*wink, wink*
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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